


He Who Will Fly Too High

by JudasComplex



Category: Addergoole Series - Lyn Thorne-Alder
Genre: Acceptance, Angst, Gen, how many more stages of grief do I have here, naming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 08:59:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4619400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JudasComplex/pseuds/JudasComplex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the moment his son was born, he knew what would happen. The vision just confirmed the name the boy needed to have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Who Will Fly Too High

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit dropped into the middle of everything, but the basics are: Akakios, our narrator, was Kept by Mystral. They had a kid, as you do at Addergoole. Fathers name their children, and this is Akakios reflecting on the naming of his son. Wheeee~

I knew that it would never be perfect.

I'd never expected it to be. From the moment one of the most gorgeous women I'd ever met walked up to me and asked me to be hers, I'd fallen too hard to see where I was going. Of course I agreed; only a fool wouldn't. When I'd learned what those words meant in Addergoole, I hadn't fought the arrangement. She was a good and fair Keeper, as far as I could tell, and she didn't treat me badly. I made friends with other students my age. I made friends with her crew, made friends with her brother's crew. I will admit, I got myself into the occasional scuffle – entirely unintentionally – and only got my face beaten in once.

And she fought them back for me. That was when everything changed.

I saw the shift in her, as the true meaning of being a Keeper dawned. We'd fought on behalf of Morganna's Kept – and she'd fought for me. I was not just someone to show the school to – I was under her Name, as it were. I was her responsibility, regardless of whether or not I was around her. And I owed her everything for it.

She spend a month apologizing. I accepted each time, assuring her I didn't need them.

My son was conceived around then.

Well...the son I helped create. The boy I helped create.

He's never been my son.

It wasn't that she kept him from me, far from; she'd always given me time to visit him, and while I could, I made sure that my life was a presence in his. But when I named him...the vision I had...

I had been told my whole life that while my parents were smart, I hadn't quite gotten their intellect. Mystral would affectionately call me “fluff-for-brains”, or simply call me “fluffy” - which, of course, I was. I am not a fighter, nor will I ever be. My strength does not come from my ability to hurt others, but neither am I a healer. My strength has always come from my perseverance – from my ability to stay strong far beyond when everyone around me has broken.

In the crew I was in, no one needed a rock all that commonly.

Thus, naming my son was something I would take seriously. Too many of our classmates either had names that meant little, or had given such names to their children. I knew the significance of the naming ceremony – I knew how much one could derive from a name. Mystral was a storm petrel, named for a tempest. Her brother Aodhfionn – named “white fire”, and whose passion was only tempered by his morals.

Me? “Innocent.” I come by that honestly.

So I took my preparation seriously. I fasted, I meditated, I prayed to the gods among us. I wanted guidance. I wanted to name my son well. I wanted to give him all I could.

And in that vision, I saw him – at least my age or older, a silhouette against a setting sun. My eyes burned to look at him but I could not look away. He stood on the edge of a precipice, I couldn't tell where, and he looked out at the sun without hesitation or fear. He spread his arms – spread his wings, and in that moment I knew they were wings that another man had given him, though not wings of the flesh – and he flew off the edge.

I never saw him rise. And the vision was over.

Strong wings – the wings of a raptor, of a predator. Wings his father had built for him, wings that gave him strength and purpose. His heart was pure, a gift I had managed to instill, though tempered by others. But the wings...the wings I had not given him.

My throat closed on the name as I gave it to him – knowing who would build my son those wings, and who I would...who I already had...lost Mystral's heart to.

“Icarus.”

 


End file.
